Twelvetide
by Child of Loki
Summary: Merri Brody has a case of the Holiday Blues. Chris LaSalle decides to cheer her up. A Twelve Days of Christmas fic. (Cherri)
1. On the First Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **NCIS: New Orleans**_ **or its characters…**

 **Author's Note: Remember how I claim to not like holiday-themed fics and then proceeded to write an epic Brody/LaSalle one last year? Well, guess what…**

* * *

 _ **A Partridge in a Pear Tree**_

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Chris LaSalle had to admit he was a little bit nervous, standing on the front step, waiting for someone to answer the door. Well, not _someone_. Not just any person. But it wasn't like she was a stranger. Or someone who intimidated him.

Okay, okay. Merri Brody could be a right intimidating woman. And when he'd first met her, he had been quite impressed by her badass agent skills, her quirky-clever mind and her really rather attractive feminine features. But they were sort of friends now, weren't they? Members of Dwayne Pride's odd little family.

He shouldn't be feeling like a 16 year old calling on his date for prom.

Especially since things weren't like that between them. Sure, he'd found himself, um, _looking_ more and more. There were any number of things to blame. The least of which was his loneliness. He spent too dang much time alone now. And so did she.

That's why he was there. That's why-

The door opened, revealing the dark-haired woman wearing a pair of black yoga pants, a green tank-top, a gray hoodie, and a confused expression.

"LaSalle? What are you doing here?" she asked. "Did something happen? Damn. I turned my phone off."

She turned back into the guest house that was her permanent residence, picking up a shoe off the floor and searching around for another one.

"Is it a case? Or-" She stopped, straightened turned to face him once more, alarm widening her big brown eyes. "Is it Pride? Loretta? Patton? Percy? Sebastian? His cranberry sauce experiment exploded didn't it?!"

"No! No. I...um..." He felt himself blushing in embarrassment. Why'd he ever let slip to his family his worry about his team mate's holiday blues? Why'd he let them talk him into this? He brandished the bottle he held in his hand. "Brought ya summa Aunt Bernice's Pear Wine."

The generally unflappable woman really looked bemused. He noticed her pretty eyes were rimmed with red, the skin of her cheeks pink and raw but not wet. She'd been crying. But he hadn't interrupted her at it.

"Ken I come in?" he asked, flashing her his charming smile and stepping into the main living space in the cute little guest house, closing the door behind him. "Rule of Aunt Bernice's. Can't be drunk alone."

By the time he turned back, Brody had her unreadable face on. And it really wasn't an unpleasant one. Unlike those who were amateurs about their masks, it wasn't a broody 'back off' one. Rather, it was designed to look like an unbiased sort of genial expression.

Chris wasn't gonna have any of it.

He knew she was upset. Alone on Christmas. No fricken way she wasn't feeling abandoned and alone. Her parents running off to the Caribbean for the holiday, leavin' their daughter no home to go ta. And her sister's death being dragged up a few months ago, with still no answers. He knew she'd been thinking about Emily. He knew all too well what it was like to be dwelling on the sibling missing from your life when you should be making merry with 'em. Christmas was hell when you were missing family.

But he'd said it to her before. And he'd prove it her now. They weren't just a team of federal agents. They were family.

Apparently, the resolve was apparent in his own expression, for she frowned, sighed, and headed for the kitchen, trailing him behind.

"I thought you were spending Christmas with your family," she said, fetching two wine glasses out of a convenient cupboard. He knew she was a wine-drinker, so it should be no surprise they were readily on hand. His own 'fine' glassware collection was accumulating dust. Especially since... since there was no woman to entertain. Savannah had actually moved two of the mix-matched stemware collection to a lower shelf so she no longer had to climb up on the counter to dig them out. But he'd put them back.

"I _am_ spendin' Christmas wi' my family," he said, giving his friend an affectionate look.

Merri Brody was a good woman. And a good friend. He didn't want to see her alone and sad.

* * *

 **A/N: Traditionally, Twelvetide (The 12 Days of Christmas) begin on the 25** **th** **and last through January 5** **th** **, which I've chosen to follow here. Nothing else about this is traditional or religious-oriented.**

 **A/N2: Obviously not completely canon-compliant (skipping the events of the Christmas episode because it was a little too cheesy even for me), but incorporating major series events.**


	2. On the Second Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Obviously, these are going to be shorts… but a daily update makes up for it, right?**

* * *

 _ **Two Turtledoves**_

Oh, dear god. What the hell had happened?

Merri groaned as she rolled over, away from the window letting in all too much sunlight for anyone's sanity. Let alone her throbbing head's. She tried glancing at her alarm clock, but it was blocked by... _birds_?

The ridiculous sunshine was glinting off the gold foil of the -yes, they were- doves. Where the hell had they come from?

Why the hell did she feel like her head was going to explode?

But oh, wait. There was a large glass of water and a couple aspirin sitting beside the pair of chocolate lovebirds. The tricky part was convincing herself to drag her million-pound, throbbing head off the pillow and sit up.

Damn LaSalle.

Sometimes, she had problems saying 'no' to the man. It wasn't just his charming, entirely sincere smile, either. His eyes seemed to light up with excitement and anticipatory glee when he saw some good fun on the horizon. Whether it be teasing a friend or spending a night on the town. And immune she might be to that appealing, candid exuberance. But it was the way he took a rejection, a denial of his merriment that broke her resolve. If anyone had perfected the 'hang-dog' expression, it was Chris LaSalle. And damn, the guilt she felt over ever putting a sad half-pout on his face... Nope, she was a complete sucker. She caved like a bad souffle.

She could've - _should've_ \- sent him on his way after they'd finished that bottle of his Aunt Bernice's pear wine. But she'd been tipsy, having such a good time, laughing, swapping stories of Christmases Past, about the beautiful and brilliant girl that had been her sister... The time when they were six and they'd pulled candies off the gingerbread house, licking all of the glue-like icing off of them and sticking them back in place, until several days later it collapsed seemingly inexplicably. The time Cade and Chris were caught chopping down a tree in the neighbors backyard with a little hatchet because they knew their mama couldn't afford to buy one even though it was her favorite part of Christmas.

He was a good son, a good brother. A good friend. And the best company. She knew he had dark places in the recesses of his heart, but he had a way about him of lifting the burdens off everyone around him. And did it with a big old grin.

She'd definitely had a very bad case of the holiday blues. And her selfish desire not to be alone for the rest of the day that was undeniably focused on family, well, it had outweighed her guilt over taking Chris away from his.

After sitting propped against the headboard for a few minutes with her eyes closed, and finishing off the rest of the glass of water, Merri decided maybe she should check on her houseguest. The last she remembered was jerking awake a few times as her chin hit her chest, until she ended up leaning against her companion's shoulder instead, half-watching Jimmy Stewart's face in black and white for a couple seconds. And then... nothing. He must have carried her into her bedroom and tucked her in, but she apparently had slept through that.

The smell of coffee hit her in a blissful wave as she padded out of her bedroom towards the kitchen in bare feet. She just stood and stared for a moment at the unexpected scene of domesticity.

Chris LaSalle sitting at her kitchen table, dressed in the same clothes as he'd appeared at her door in (jeans and worn old tee), only sans jacket, a bit more rumpled and with bare feet. His short hair somehow was even mussed looking. There was an open newspaper -the sports section, of course, such a guy- obscuring his face, so she couldn't tell if he was as hung over as she felt.

"Leave me any coffee?" she asked, her voice embarrassingly hoarse.

The paper flopped down to the tabletop, revealing a boyish grin and blue eyes that -like the morning sun streaming into her bedroom windows- were just too damned bright.

"Yup," he said, getting up to pour her a cup. She plopped down into a chair, depositing the two gold-foil birds on top of the abandoned newspaper before she buried her face in her hands and groaned like she were undead. She only came back out of hiding when a steaming mug was placed on to the table before her.

"Two questions," she said when her friend and uninvited house guest resumed his seat across from her.

"Shoot," he said, still grinning. It was just unfair that he was so damned _awake_ and _lively_. Thank god Christmas had been on a Friday, and she had all of Saturday and Sunday to nurse this dreadful hangover.

"Okay. Three questions," she amended, then proceeded to interrogate her stupid-cheerful partner. "One: Are you sure that was Pear _Wine_ and not some sort of 'White Lightening?'"

LaSalle laughed, but otherwise didn't interrupt, obviously aware of her raw state and wary of pissing her off.

"Two: How are you not hung over?"

He took a long pull off his cooler cup of coffee, his eyes doing the laughing.

"And Three: What the hell are these?" She indicated the chocolate doves that she'd disgustingly arranged like they were kissing without even realizing she'd done so.

"Them's doves," he said. She gave him an arch look. _No shit, Sherlock_.

"Yes, but _why_?"

He shrugged. "My momma's idea. Thought you might like 'em."

Weird. And he'd been discussing her with his mother?

"And yes," he said. "I ken assure ya that Aunt Bernice's Pear Wine is fermented in a carboy an' not distilled from corn mash."

Merri frowned incredulously.

"The alcoholic content is unknown however." He took another sip of his coffee. "But when ya grow up with it, ya seem ta develop some sorta tolerance. Ha'n't been hung over off'n' it since I was 19."

"19, Chris?"

He grinned broadly, shrugging again. He was young enough that there was no way the legal drinking age had been anything under 21 when he was a teenager. He never talked about his late teens much, besides that being the time when he'd first run off to New Orleans and fell in love with the place. She didn't know how long, or in what circumstances he'd stayed, or how he'd been coaxed back home and into college. Only that the place must have imprinted on him something fierce for him to return and join the NOPD right out of college.

"Honestly, I think ya jus' had a li'l more wine than me," he said. And crap, maybe he was right. She'd let her lonely mood get to her, grateful to have the company of a friend on Christmas, nervous what he'd thought of her ridiculous wallowing. She blushed, still a little ashamed of needing his friendship so desperately the previous night.

"Hey," he said, doubtless noticing her embarrassment. "I made the same dang mistake prob'bly a thousan' times more'n ya."

"An' it was fun, wa'n't it?" He was leaning across the table, tilting his head to try to see her face which she'd buried in her hands once more.

It had been fun, hadn't it?

"I had no idea ya did such a good Daffy Duck impression."

She smacked his arm as he chuckled, blushing further but laughing along with her friend.

* * *

 **A/N: So obviously I fudged LaSalle's personal history a little, considering the canon crams quite a bit into the back story for a man in his early 30s.**


	3. On the Third Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Fun and Light? Needs more depth? PG or Smutty? I'd ask for preferences, but at this point and with the accelerated posting schedule, this fic is already written. So you'll just have to stay tuned to find out where it goes. ;-)**

* * *

 _ **Three French Hens**_

"What's this?" Merri Brody asked, her dark brows knitting together as she gave him a baffled look.

"On Christmas, ya said ya ain't got no plans fer t'night." Chris gave her a hopeful smile. It was sort of... okay, an outright lie. But judging by the severity of her hangover yesterday morning, she likely couldn't remember the specifics of what they'd talked about while consuming the Pear Wine plus two other bottles from her 'cellar' (which he planned on replacing since he'd sort of tricked her into getting drunk and opening up to him). "Or don't ya remember?"

She frowned, then put on that face she made when she was fronting. Oh, Meredith Brody thought she was all sly with that shit, but she wasn't nearly as unreadable as she thought. Especially, since he'd gotten to know her, testing her reactions over the past year. Not in any malicious sort of way. Just in the manner people did when they first became acquainted with persons that grew to be close friends. And he had wanted to be a good friend to her. He still did. Which was why he was currently lying to her, and striding in through her front door, straight to her kitchen with a paper bag full of groceries.

Her interrogatory glare, replete with narrowed eyes was equally ineffective on his inured person. He'd been on the receiving end of that one, too, on more than one occasion. He set the bag down on her kitchen table, and began unloading items, including a bottle of _Ame Dulce_ , which she'd mentioned was her favorite the other night as the last few drops from the one they'd opened splashed into the bottom of her empty glass.

He fetched the corkscrew from its spot in the drawer next to the sink and used it to open the bottle before he got a couple glasses out of the upper cupboard just to the right of the fridge. When he turned back to place them on the table and pour the wine, he was surprised by the expression of incredulity on his friend's pretty face, her lips parted and her jaw hanging a little ajar. Okay, so he hadn't been the recipient of the entirety of what apparently was a vast repertoire of Merri Brody expressions.

"Why do you know your way around my kitchen?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Ya got it pretty logically organized. Don't take long ta learn it."

He grinned and winked at her. "And ya already showed me where the most important things were..."

He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. She closed her mouth, but her lovely brown eyes were still wide with disbelief. He was a little insulted to realize it was because she was shocked by the domesticity of his behavior. Or the idea that he could cook _and_ was planning on cooking for her.

"An' I ken figure out the rest," he said. "So why don't ya go 'n' relax while I start dinner."

"Dinner?" she said, glancing at the clock on the stove. "It's only 3:30."

"Ya know what King always says. The best food can't be prepared 'n the..."

...time it takes to drive around to the window," she finished along with him, repeating the scolding they always received when the senior agent caught them scarfing some fast food.

She turned, heading towards the living room with her glass of wine. He caught himself studying her backside and felt his cheeks flush as he tried to hastily tear his eyes away. But dang, she was a beautiful woman. Even dressed so casually, a pair of grey yoga pants and a t-shirt, her shapely and fit body was noticeable. Very noticeable as the soft jersey pants clung to her heart-shaped ass. And what the hell was wrong with him?

He forced himself to focus on the food instead, starting when she said his name and he thought that she must have caught him _looking_. Which was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn't trying to romance her (he didn't have it in him to do that, for any woman, definitely not so soon after Savannah). He was simply trying to cheer up his friend, dammit. So checking her out was really off-limits.

"Chris?" she said his name again, her voice light and inviting response. His cheeks still a little warm with the shame of having ogled her really rather exquisite ass, he worked on unpacking the rest of the ingredients he'd picked up on his way over instead of looking at her. But of course, she would have none of that.

"Yeah?" he said with his face buried in the paper bag, but she refused to submit to the prompting, instead waiting in silence until he finally did look up, meeting those deep, dark eyes of hers. Since they'd become a staple in his daily life, he no longer really noticed them anymore, as with most things a person saw on a regular basis. But god, they were undeniably the most captivating big, brown eyes he'd ever seen. Not even Kendra (his sister's youngest) could rival the expressive round eyes of Merri Brody (not that he would ever say such a thing to his sister or his beloved, doe-eyed niece).

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, holding him completely captive, as well as captivated by her dark eyes.

 _Because you've become one of the most important people in my life._

 _Because I talk to my family about everything, except for when it comes to problems with my family, I find myself talking to you._

 _Because you're the only one who allows me to come to you, who hasn't tried to force me to talk and 'face my grief' since Savannah died._

 _Because it hurts me to see you sad._

"Because yer my _friend_ ," he said, not feeling like he'd chickened out, but rather that the explanation held all of the reasons. It was the only reason necessary. And were her eyes a little shiny and wet when she nodded her head in mute acceptance? He didn't have time to determine whether she'd teared up, for she turned away slightly, taking a drink of her wine.

He shrugged, pulled the last item, the out of the bag, the bottle of brandy, and then proceeded to fold up the brown paper.

"So, what're you making?" she asked, the vulnerable moment washed away, replaced by her usual easy confidence.

"Coq Au Vin," he said, pulling the recipe out of his jeans' pocket. One of his mama's. Only with some slight alterations. "Only instead of the standard chicken, I though I'd use some Cornish Game Hens."

"Looks like you've got three of them," Brody said, pointing out the packages of the bird carcasses on the table before taking another sip of her wine that did nothing to hide her sly smile.

Well, he knew she'd be on to him rather quick in this game. But that wasn't about to stop him from doing his damnest to cheer his friend up. His friend with gorgeous brown eyes and the most alluringly round ass, which he wasn't going to think about at all while he cooked dinner for her. And ate with her. And kept her company for as long as she'd tolerate him.

But probably not get drunk with her on a Sunday night when they had to be into the office the next morning... Unless she used those damned doe-eyes on him.

They had the power to make him cave like a Kentucky coal mine.

* * *

 **A/N: Not romancing her, my ass, Chris LaSalle! But will he realize what he's subconsciously doing? And what will Merri's reaction be to this more intimate sort of friendship?**


	4. On the Fourth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: I think I may have been a little unfair to Percy in this one, but hopefully it makes sense in the context, from Brody's perspective. (see author's note at end for further thoughts on this.)**

* * *

 _ **Four Calling Birds**_

"LaSalle!"

Merri glared at her so-called friend who was sitting, laughing and grinning like an idiot as he reclined in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, his disgustingly defined biceps bulging (not that she paid close attention to the details of Chris LaSalle's body for any reason besides the fact that she was a trained observer).

How was it fair? His desk was somehow sacrosanct, but hers he could violate whenever the mood struck him, stealing her pens, and granola bars when hunger crept up on him.

Or apparently, placing what appeared to be a flock of chittering little plastic wind-up birds that were going manic all over her desk, trapped between her keyboard and the monitor. There was only four of them, just seemed like much more for the racket they were making.

LaSalle was still laughing from where he remained a safe distance from her at his own desk. And of all the rather complimentary things you could say about the man, his easy smile, his charming manners, his gorgeous blue eyes... Infectious laughter had to be high up on the list of appealing qualities he possessed. And infectious it was. Merri began to laugh as she watched dizzy little plastic birds bumping into one another and off her cup of pens, the pink one tripping over a stack of paper, falling onto its side, its plastic feet still going, the gears buzzing as its chirps somehow seemed to transform into desperate pleas of 'I've fallen and I can't get up!'

Merri plopped down into her own chair, laughing uncontrollably. Somehow, it had gotten to her, the ridiculous little birds, four of them, chirping and wandering about dizzily. In short time they were all knocked over on their sides, legs working in a manic attempt as they continued to call out to the world.

They had to wind down soon, right?

"What the hell is goin' on, B?" Percy had finally shown up, and paused by Merri's desk to give her a judgmental look. They'd been interviewing witnesses all morning, and on their way back, Percy mentioned running down to the vegan cafe a few blocks over to grab something for lunch. Merri had declined. Because to be perfectly honest, the younger woman's attitude had begun to grate on her after having to listen to her 'quips' all morning long. Sonja Percy wasn't nearly as witty as she thought she was.

"LaSalle," Merri said, still breathless from laughing. Her sides hurt with it.

The short agent, peered over the top of Merri's computer monitor, rolling her eyes as she caught sight of the four little plastic birds, now winding down, the chirping and buzzing dying off. And then she turned to face the culprit.

"Some days, I think you ain't got the mentality of a five year old, LaSalle," she said, the sarcasm as thick as ever in her tone before she turned back to Merri. "But you, I always figured as possessin' a li'l more _class_ , B."

 _Class?_ The borderline arrogant former-ATF agent was one to fricken talk. The perhaps silly, but completely innocent amusement gone, Merri focused on straightening up the massacre of now silent birds (which specific species the cartoonish creatures belonged to, it was hard to say). She was careful not to let the frown show on her face.

"Ya eat yet?"

She looked up to see LaSalle's sapphire eyes studying her intently. Not feeling much like talking (she'd had enough damn words spending all morning with Queen Mouthy), she simply shook her head.

"C'mon." He flashed her a smile. "My treat."

"If I knew you was treatin, Lassie, I woulda waited," Percy chimed in, reappearing in front of Merri's desk. God, she was sick of the woman. Normally, Percy didn't irritate her so much. She just... She had a lot on her mind lately, and the oblivious meanness of the younger agent was... it was difficult to stomach.

"Well, good thing ya didn't," LaSalle said, all playfulness, and yet... Merri knew him better than to let the small hint of irritation in the way his hand tensed around the fabric of his jacket go unnoted. "'Cause ya'll wa'n't invited."

Percy gave him her usual 'tough girl' look that was all attitude, obviously thinking the man was doing nothing but teasing. For spending so much time undercover, the agent wasn't very observant. Or maybe she just didn't care to know her coworkers beyond the initial assumptions she'd made. Because Sonja Percy was always right. And god forbid you tried to correct her on anything.

 _Ugh. Stop it, Merri._

LaSalle's instincts had been spot on. She needed a breather, before she allowed herself to stew in what was mostly just a bad mood. Merri tried to remind herself that she in fact liked the new addition to their team as she gathered up her jacket and purse, trying to think of a reason why.

...

Merri hastily gulped down some of her water before she choked on her chicken salad. LaSalle looked somewhat alarmed despite the glee in his face. And yes, she supposed he earned sporting that idiotic smug grin, because he'd told the story perfectly. It was one she hadn't heard before and it was such a ridiculous happenstance, that she thought even Pride must be able to laugh at it now, five years later.

But then again, Merri supposed she would've never gotten over falling into a pit of horse shit. So maybe that's why she'd never heard Chris tell what he would dub a 'whopper' before.

"How long did it take for him to forgive you?" she asked, after she was secure in her ability to breathe once more without inhaling her lunch into her lungs.

He blinked his blues eyes, shaking his head a little, as if he hadn't understood.

"It was clearly your fault, Chris," she said, wondering for a moment when she'd started calling him primarily by his first name and not his surname. "You're telling me he wasn't pissed at you?"

Chris shrugged, his smile subdued but genuine.

"Ya know King," he said. "Not the type ta cry over spilt milk."

"Or spilt horse manure, apparently," Merri said, making her friend laugh again.

"We's friends, family," he said, locking eyes with her, his true meaning undeniably clear. "Sometimes we misstep, accidentally trip up one another, get on each other's nerves. But we get over it, learn ta forgive an' get along."

Merri closed her eyes. She hadn't wanted a lecture from Chris, but apparently her behavior had warranted one. She hadn't thought she'd been openly hostile towards their probationary agent. At least, Percy hadn't seemed to notice anything had been off. But that woman was so absorbed in how the world pertained to herself, she didn't seem to notice the nuances in others. But Chris had noticed. Even with his own often overactive mouth and his goofing around, he was a rather observant man. Clever, too.

"Percy's a great undercover agent. And she's going to make a pretty good NCIS agent, too," Merri said. "But she needs to adjust her attitude. She's working with a team now. Disrespecting her teammates, even in a superficial way, it's undermining the cohesiveness of the team."

"She jus' ain't used ta being a member of a family like ours," Chris said. "Like _someone else_ I know who took awhile ta let her guard down."

Merri sighed, but he had a point, and so she nodded. But even so, she just couldn't stand their newest recruit's snide remarks sometimes.

"I don't like how she belittles you, Chris," she said, blushing for some reason at the vehemence of her protective side where he was concerned.

He smiled at her, but it was a more timid, almost coy expression compared to his usual incorrigible little boy grin.

"Because yer a good friend, Mere," he said. "But I ken take it. What I ain't sure 'bout is whether Percy's gonna be able ta adjust. She could use a friend like yerself ta guide her."

Now it was her turn to smile in that coy, blushing manner. She may not have appreciated their snarky new teammate's style. But apparently, she didn't take compliments all that well, either.

Or maybe it was just compliments from Chris LaSalle.

When had that happened? That he could make her blush so?

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry, guys. Didn't mean for this to be an outlet for my dislike of Percy's insulting (and not witty at all) attitude. I want her to work in the show, but she's just making it awkward, and I feel like Brody would feel alienated a little bit by it, and if she were actually friends with LaSalle, perhaps insulted on his behalf for how their most junior agent constantly disrespects him. Anyway, it was another factor to add to Merri's 'Holiday Blues' and general quasi-depressed mood in this fic.**


	5. On the Fifth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Well, this got a little out of control with the UST. But enjoy the ride? ;-)**

* * *

 _ **Five Golden Rings**_

"All set?" Merri Brody asked, a slight irritation in her voice. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He'd made three trips from the office to the SUV, loading up all the supplies they'd need for the stakeout. It wasn't that there were a lot of items. He just seemed to suddenly remember or think of something they might regret not having for the long hours of sitting in the vehicle, watching the comings and goings of a supposedly unemployed woman in her mid-30s. Marsha Stone was one of the witnesses the two female agents had interviewed the previous morning and with a suspicious alibi had become a suspect. Well, officially a person of interest. And knowing how Percy had been getting on Brody's nerves lately, Chris had managed to persuade Pride into taking the shift with the mouthy newbie, and he and Merri could have a little partner time, like the good ol' days.

It was for her, he'd told himself. Not because having lunch with her and seeing her briefly between running to the NOPD to pick up reports and to the morgue and her interviewing witnesses the previous day just hadn't seemed enough to satisfy him. Not that he had a... um... _need_ that required satisfying.

No. He hadn't gone to bed thinking about how she was doing, whether she was up reading. Or if she was worrying over Emily's possible murder case. Or whether she was even alone. And that thought discomfited him the most, for some reason. The thought that maybe that egocentric ex-fiancé of hers had stopped by on his way through town for a little taste of the woman he both seemed to want and not care about _her_ wants and needs. To Chris, the man just appeared to be stringing her along, playing on the deep feelings she once held for him, preventing her from having a serious relationship with anyone new. That Doc Wilkins had been sweet enough. And Gator had seemed the type to give a girl a good time. But neither man had made it far with her. And Chris couldn't help but think it was a certain jerk reporter who was responsible. Hell, if Merri wasn't the type of independent, self-sufficient woman she was, Chris thought he'd probably have slugged that smug expression off James Lathom's face quite a while ago for treating such a fine woman so poorly.

Well, if he hadn't been wrapped up in his own personal demons while she was trying to deal with hers.

"You sure you aren't forgetting anything?" she asked, the irritation now replaced by amusement.

"Hey, ya ken tease me all ya want, Merri Brody," he said. "But you'll be damn glad fer the provisions I packed when yer stomach starts rumblin' or ya hafta take a piss."

She gave him that look he tended to get a lot from her, the 'did you really just say that?' eyebrow raise.

"I'm not three years old," she said, smile tugging at her lips. "I can control my bladder."

He shrugged, but found himself unable to resist engaging her in the familiar pattern of banter that had somehow gone missing from his life over the past few months. God, he had missed this, working closely with her.

"Jus' noticed sum women seem ta hafta pee a lot," he said. "An' ya do drink a lotta water."

"But do you see me running off to the bathroom all the time?" He wasn't sure what was more amusing. The fact that Merri Brody was having a conversation with him about a topic she never would've discussed with him a year ago. Or the fact that she was seeming to enjoy their interplay. Seeing her light-hearted lifted a weight off of his own.

"Guess not," he said, trying not to match the smile that was threatening to light up her face as they attempted to have a 'serious conversation'.

"It's all in having a tight core," she said, sliding him a facetious glance as she turned the engine over and put the vehicle in gear.

 _Tight core?_ He didn't doubt it.

Chris swallowed, unable to find the words to reply to what had been a blatantly dirty innuendo from a woman he'd been somewhat flirty with before but never quite in a sexual manner.

Fortunately, she saved him from the discomfort having to continue to consider her _tight core_.

"So what provisions did you pack?" she asked after she'd pulled out onto the street and started heading for the neighborhood where their suspect lived, and then took a sip of one of said provisions, a cup of coffee prepared just the way she liked it; a disgusting amount of sugar but no cream.

Twisting in the passenger seat he reached for the white bakery bag and deposited it in her lap.

"This treat's jus' fer you," he said with a smile as she gave him a combination surprised and suspicious look. Really, why would she be surprised at this point that he was giving her things?

"What is it?" she asked, obviously trying not to look as eager as a child waking their parents on Christmas morning. And failing. She was getting into this little game, too. And it was making it all the more fun for Chris.

"I'm not tellin'," he said. "Ya've gotta see fer yerself."

She _humphed_ , squirming a little in the driver's seat as she made a right hand turn and the little white (and somewhat greasy) bag slid around on her lap. Maybe he shouldn't have set it on her thigh clad in her nicest pair of black trousers (not that he noticed they were the ones that hugged her backside the snuggest or anything). He'd hate to see them ruined if the grease got through the bag and into the fabric.

But reaching across and plucking the bag that had settled cozily into her crotch was quite out of the question. She'd just have to live with it until she had a free hand, which given the crazy traffic -literally, it seemed like insane people were out on the road that day- and the fact that they'd borrowed an older SUV from the NOPD's stock of undercover vehicles that happened to be a stick shift... It might have to wait until they reached their destination.

Just across the street and a couple doors down from their suspect's home, there was a rundown house that had just been vacated by the tenants a couple weeks earlier. The owner had agreed to let them park in the driveway even though they couldn't convince him that there wouldn't be any liability issues if he let them use the actual house.

"Deep enough?" she asked, startling and confusing him.

"S'rry?" Her tone hadn't implied it, but her word choice had been a little... well, lewd.

"I said, 'is it in deep enough'?"

Chris had to bite his lip to stifle the 'that's what she said'. As for his stakeout partner, if she'd done it on purpose, she gave no sign, instead looking in the various mirrors and twisting about in her seat to check out the visibility and blindspots.

"I think it ken go in jus' a few more inches," he said, because he just couldn't fricken resist. "Ain't deeper always better?"

She glared at him in a way that was too facetious for him to feel admonished. Rather than pull the vehicle forward however, she cut the engine.

"Have to disagree with you on that one, Chris," she said. "It's all about positioning."

He shook his head. He was losing track of what they were supposed to actually be discussing with all of the double entendres. Not to mention the fact that he was now thinking solely about positioning in terms of his -okay, yes, dammit- _incredibly sexy_ partner's body in relation to his own, in very different circumstances than these- Okay, and now in these precise circumstances... which would involve some awkward contorting and probably someone straddling someone else's lap... in reverse.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably in the worn bucket seat, simultaneously clearing his throat. Forcing the inappropriate thoughts from his head, he wondered at how she thought they would be able to observe their suspect from this um, _position._ But then his question was shortly answered. Well, after the surprise and confusion that made him stare at her, mouth partially agape as she proceeded to wriggle about until she was climbing in between the two front seats, momentarily placing ( _oh, dear god_ ) her gorgeous heart-shaped ass right in front of his face. Her snug slacks were stretched across those full curvy buttocks so tightly he could see the muscle shift beneath the skin and fabric, the thin layer of fat rounding out her backside quivering with the motion as she seemed to struggle with something in the backseat.

He _wouldn't_ place his palm on her alluring ass. He _wouldn't_ spread his fingers wide, mold his hand to that beautiful round globe. And he definitely _wouldn't_ give the flesh a little squeeze, testing whether it was the perfect balance of supple and firm that it appeared to be. Nope. _He wouldn't touch her_. He wouldn't- And then she was gone, clambering into the depths of the SUV.

Taking a few seconds to get his head on straight, he risked peering around his own seat, and was thankful that he didn't find that ridiculously gorgeous ass still within groping distance. Unfortunately, instead his eyes settled on the sight of Merri Brody laying on her stomach, long legs stretching out from the swell of her perfect ass. God, he couldn't ever remember fixating on a woman's backside so intently before. Something was seriously wrong with him. He was beginning to think listening to Pride had been a mistake. Yes, he'd gotten a little out of control, juggling several women and accruing a number of other hook-ups. It had only been a means of avoiding his grief, he could now admit. But quitting women cold turkey was obviously also the wrong tactic. Because now he was confined in close quarters with a woman who knew him better than any but the ones that were blood-related to him. And she smelled deliciously of apples. And had an ass he imagined would feel amazing spooned up against his groin... as he curled his knees up behind hers, wrapped his arms around her, held her close, felt her heart beating through her back pressed against his chest, and buried his face in her neck. Breathing the scent of apples with a hint of vanilla. Warm and solid and reassuring in his arms.

"Got her," Merri said, breaking his highly inappropriate contemplations. Okay, fantasies. They were fantasies. But there was no harm in that. As long as he didn't act on it. She twisted slightly, looking back over her shoulder, and gesturing for him to join her, binoculars held in her other hand. ( _It wasn't a sex kitten pose. It wasn't.)_ He squeezed between the two front seats, and joined her, stretching out on his stomach and accepting the binoculars, feeling like they were two kids spying on the neighbors from their tree house fort. They'd have to get the camera out in order to acquire some solid evidence, but sure enough, there was their suspect doing something in the kitchen, visible through the gauzy curtains.

"Told you it was all about positioning," Merri whispered, her voice husky because she'd dropped it slow low.

Chris glanced at her, smiling despite the fact that he was thinking about how he'd never tried making it with a woman currently in the position she was. And that he'd rather like to give it a go with her.

Damn.

If he survived this next week being friendly with Merri Brody, he was going to have to call up one of his lady friends. Sure, he'd been a little abrupt in calling it off, but he'd let them down easy from what had been a casual thing to start with. Surely, Jessica wouldn't mind a booty call? Except, she was a little on the skinny side. None of the girls he thought might be receptive to a proposition from Chris LaSalle (after not hearing from him for three months) had an ass quite like the heart-shaped perfection lying beside him. Not to mention those breasts, and lovely long legs and big doe-eyes and pretty mouth, and warm laugh, and gorgeous smile, and mean right hook.

"I'll get the camera," he said, hastily shimming away from his partner whose apple-with-a-hint-of-vanilla scent was becoming downright intoxicating in the enclosed space. The very cozy space dimly lit by whatever light made it through the probably-not-legal tinted windows, which made spying far easier, anyway but felt a little scarily much like mood-lighting.

"Ooh, can you hand me my coffee and my treat, too?"

LaSalle passed the cup of lukewarm coffee and the white bakery bag to his partner. And then watched with unwarranted eagerness as she unrolled the top and looked inside. She pulled one of the plain cider donuts cooked to golden-perfection out, laughing in that soft, melodic way of hers that made him warm in a spot just beside his heart.

"I don't think I can eat five donuts on my own," she said, offering him one.

"Nah," he said, still grinning at the way her face lit up, how pure and innocent she could look when she forgot all of the burdens of living a less-than-charmed-life. "Them's all yers."

She frowned, but not in an unhappy way. "You sure?"

"Where d'ya think the rest a the dozen went?"

Her doe-eyes went large, and then she laughed as she realized he was shittin' her. He could sure pack the food in, but seven donuts was even a little much for him. Well, eight, since he'd wound up with a baker's dozen. Pride claimed that the shop girl spoiled Chris because he flirted shamelessly with the plump young woman with the adorable little button-nose. But really, he'd only ever given her a smile and a 'thank you, miss.'

Was it his fault if a woman thought that having manners was an intimate sort of invitation? Merri surely didn't think anything of the kind, or else she would've doubtlessly slapped him right across the face for being so forwardly friendly the past few days.

God, if she only knew the thoughts that had been going through his head...

* * *

 **A/N: Oh, LaSalle, you naughty boy! But what is that girl up to, with all of that sexual innuendo? Maybe lonely friends shouldn't spend so much time together… Things are bound to arise. ;-)**


	6. On the Sixth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Some more friendship fluff with a side of UST…**

* * *

 _ **Six Geese-a-laying**_

What the hell had she been thinking? She'd let something loose she probably shouldn't have. Chris LaSalle was trying to be a good friend to her, and here she had begun to _flirt_ with him in ways that were more than just friendly. God, she'd been coming on sort of strong, hadn't she? And she really had no idea why. She didn't _want_ anything from him.

Okay. She did rather enjoy his friendship. Spending time with him, joking, laughing, discussing their families, the regions where they'd grown up, their favorite places in the world, books and movies, music... Their coworkers... Their past relationships, including her ex-fiancé and his murdered girlfriend. Serious or light-hearted, she loved being around the man. She couldn't deny that.

So why had she jeopardized it by letting some lewd innuendo and a little bit of sexual tension into it? She should've noticed she was attracted to his lean, lightly muscled body that smelled like ginger and sweat with just a hint of gunpowder. She should've just accepted that and locked it up tight. Instead the attraction had crept up on her and made her behave... well, like a naughty girl.

She briefly wondered how Chris LaSalle felt about naughty girls. And whether he thought they needed to be punished and how- _holy shit, stop_!

He was a sweet, sweet guy. And a good friend. And she was absolutely _not_ going to fantasize about him. Especially not when he was standing right there, busy in her kitchen, cooking her dinner for the second time that week. She was a downright spoiled brat, she was.

Dinner and a show, tonight. Watching him chop up the vegetables, crack and whisk up the eggs with the ease born of skilled hands that she'd never really noticed before. He certainly wasn't clumsy. She couldn't recall a time that he'd spilled anything from their forensics kits, something she'd admittedly done on several occasions. He seemed pretty adept at handling their firearms, breaking them down, cleaning them, loading magazines. And manipulating an opponent in some close-quarters combat. She wondered what else his hands were good at...

Merri pushed the glass of wine away from herself. No more of that. It was making her a little too loose with her thoughts. She was liable to do or say something regrettable. Well, more regrettable than the shameless flirting she'd initiated and perpetuated during their stakeout the previous day.

"So... what do they taste like?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes from straying, from studying the really rather attractively lean body of her friend, the way the soft fabric of his t-shirt clung to his shoulders and his smoothly muscled back, ending just below the waistband of his jeans above the swell of his yummy firm buttocks, which tensed and shifted as he opened a cupboard and reached up on his tiptoes to retrieve a couple of plates. Merri wasn't an extremely picky woman when it came to men's physical attributes. She liked them good-looking, of course (who didn't?), and she sometimes preferred tall guys, like James. But she had never been more thankful that Chris was just of an average height as she watched him stretch his just-right body (not too thick with muscle, not too thin or soft) to reach the upper shelves in her kitchen (being a couple inches shorter than him in her bare feet, she generally needed a footstool).

"I don't really know," he said, making her blink as she had to recall the question she'd asked him before she'd been horribly distracted. "I ain't never had goose eggs before."

"Guess we're about to find out," she said, as he placed a plate with an impressively neat omelet in the French style before her. He watched her expectantly but she just stared back at him. God, he was an unassumingly attractive man. More than just his pretty eyes and mouth. Someone as sweet as Chris LaSalle just couldn't hide it. Whether they meant to or not, they wore their genuinely loving nature like a weightless cloak, a warming aura that wrapped about them.

"Where's yours?" she asked, feeling like she'd been put in the spotlight as he eagerly watched her.

"It'll only take a minute," he said. "Yours is gonna get cold."

He had gone through all of the trouble of locating an individual with a backyard flock of geese who sold the eggs at a neighborhood farmer's market. And it wasn't as if he just handed half a dozen goose eggs off to her, but he'd gone through the trouble of whipping them up into an omelet. The least she could do was get over the awkwardness of his watching her eat, and try it. Besides, she liked trying new foods, right?

Cutting off a bite with the side of her fork, she scooped it up and deposited on her tongue before chewing slowly in order to fully experience the flavor of it. He'd done a good job, cooking it until it was just the right texture, and the sweet peppers and curry spice were the perfect compliment of flavors to the richer egg taste. The appreciative hum that emerged from the back of her throat wasn't contrived in the least.

"Delicious," she said after she swallowed her bite, his face already lighting up because of what was doubtless an expression of gastronomical ecstasy on her own face. "Go. Make yourself one."

He flashed her his happy boyish grin before he vacated the chair he'd taken up for treating her like that evening's feature entertainment to return to the stove top.

"Does it taste dif'rent?" he asked as he poured more of the egg mixture into the hot frying pan with a sizzle that had him hastily turning the heat down. She took her fourth bite, slowing down a little more again to contemplate it before swallowing.

"Not a whole different from chicken eggs," she said as he made his own omelet. Merri thought that at this point, he knew his way around her kitchen better than she did. "But you know. It's more the difference between free-range small farm chicken eggs and store-bought eggs."

"Yeah, them birds what laid these eggs had the run of their owners backyard," he said, bringing his plate along as he resumed his seat at the small table across from her. He shoveled a large bite into his mouth, making a pleased sound before looking at her, genuine surprise lingering there, as if he hadn't really believed her when she said it was good.

"That ain't half bad, if I do say so m'self," he said, tucking into the omelet on his plate that she noticed he hadn't been as neat about folding and arranging as the one he'd presented to her.

"Thought I was lying to you?" she asked, taking another bite, which already put her halfway through consuming the large portion.

He shrugged while he chewed. It was obvious he thought she wouldn't have said if it had been unpalatable, just to spare his feelings. Whether it was because of his mama, his older brother and sister, or Dwayne Pride, somebody had raised the boy right. He was a goddamn sweetie. Not to mention adorable, loyal, sometimes fierce and badass when he needed to be.

"Feel free to tell me I've overstepped the bounds of our friendship," she said, daring to go to a place maybe she shouldn't, but one they'd been toeing the line of for nearly a week now. He looked up, the easy-going manner sobering a little as her words sunk in. Maybe she shouldn't, but it was too late now. Just do it. Just say it. "Did Savannah know how lucky a woman she was?"

They'd sort of talked about her before. But Merri had always let him bring the subject up. So it was new for her to initiate such a conversation. And to talk about her in a more commonplace, less sad way. She knew it was what he needed, to progress through thinking only of the pain and guilt of her loss to incorporating her into his past, accepting that he would still think of her sometimes, and that they could be happy thoughts, that they didn't always have to be sad memories.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't react adversely to what was almost a teasing joke involving the dead woman. Rather his ears seemed to turn pink and when he did look at her, it was in a coy little boy way.

"More like cursed wi' me," he said after minute, when the blush waned and was replaced by the sadness.

"Why? Your cooking isn't that bad." Merri was determined to keep it light. He had to be able to remember the woman he'd been falling for with happiness, too. It wasn't fair to Savannah's memories to only be saddened by the thought of her. "Or did she refuse to even try it? I mean one wouldn't think to look at you that you'd be useful in the kitchen."

He chuckled a little bit. "She did like my Chicken-Fried Steak quite a bit."

"You sure she wasn't just buttering you up..." Merri cut herself off before she finished the train of that thought. But she knew a number of women that would probably say whatever it took to get his charming ass into bed.

"Yup," he said, smiling for the first time she'd seen without that bittersweet edge he always had when talking about Savannah. "She even said it was better than her mama's."

"Oh, well that settles it," Merri said. "She was lying just to get into your pants."

Whoops. Had she gone too far?

She nearly sighed in relief when after a beat, he laughed, shaking his head. Good. He should be happy when he thought of his girlfriend. It was healthy. It would help him move on. And maybe not feel like he was betraying her when he did. The survivor's guilt he suffered was terrible enough a burden. And maybe Merri had only met the woman once briefly, but she believed that Savannah would not have wanted Chris to stop living, or even just continue on half-living his life.

Because she must have known. No one who spent any amount of time with him could deny it.

Chris LaSalle was an amazing man. And a wonderful human being.

* * *

 **A/N: I think someone's a bit smitten with someone else…**


	7. On the Seventh Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: What are our favorite agents up to on New Year's Eve…?**

* * *

 _ **Seven Swans-a-swimming**_

Merri had expected him to smell of some cloying, strong aftershave, since he'd cleaned himself up nice, for once foregoing the three-day-old jeans and a grey Henley for a pair of black slacks and a sapphire blue button-down that did amazing things to his pretty, pretty eyes. But he didn't smell of any fancy cologne or aftershave when he pulled her in close for the slower song that followed the upbeat tune that had him twirling her about the dance floor. She was still a little dizzy from it, so she'd leaned into him maybe a bit more than necessary, and breathed in that familiar ginger and sweat scent of him. After the exertion of the dancing, he definitely smelled like he did after a day at work that included chasing down suspects. And she didn't mind it at all. It was just LaSalle.

Actually, she would've found it odd if he'd doused himself in some artificially musky scent. This, this was nice. She'd worked up a pretty good sweat herself, yet the warmth of his body so close, touching hers in places, it was undeniably alluring.

Her high-heels made her as tall as him, and so she had to lean in a little more, choosing to wrap her arms around his back and place a hand on the nape of his neck as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. It was more intimate than strictly necessary even for a slow dance, but he didn't seem put off by the embrace. Rather, instead of resting his hands at her waist or hips, his own arms encircled her tighter, his hands feeling large and warm caressing her spine and the small of her back. It was much more like a hug as they swayed about to the music. And maybe her breasts were a little uncomfortably crushed against his chest, but she could feel the beating of his heart, thought she could fall blissfully asleep, it was so comfortable, and comforting.

Whichever woman ultimately got to keep the man's heart, they were sure the luckiest person in the world. Chris LaSalle was a ridiculously compassionate soul, and knew how to make a woman feel cherished, even if she was just a friend.

Part of her had still felt leery when he'd asked if she had an extra set of keys to her house he could use for her surprise that day. But it hadn't taken her more than two seconds to decide to give them to him. She trusted him with more than her life. And that wasn't only at work. Honestly, she'd been more than a little nervous about what she'd find when she finally left the office and headed home. But there'd only been a note on her kitchen table and no sign of Chris. He must have had left just after she'd texted him that she was finally done at work. Because the note had instructed her to find her surprise in the bathroom. And the water still had been blissfully hot. He'd drawn her a bath. It had smelled like fresh apples, like her favorite hand lotion. And she discovered he'd found a bath oil in the scent, leaving the remainder for her as well.

She'd laughed when she'd seen the seven little rubber duckies floating in the tub. They were painted white with black on their beaks, like swans.

The note had said he'd pick her up at nine. Which had given her a full hour to soak in the tub and enough time leftover to get ready. That part hadn't been a surprise, since he knew better than to plan her entire night without her consent. They were going to go out to celebrate, since it was New Year's Eve after all. Of course, they'd have to make an appearance at Pride's bar. But, Chris had said there was somewhere else he wanted to take her after, thought she'd like.

It was a nice place, halfway between the clubbing atmosphere she knew was her younger friend's scene and the more refined restaurant-bar venues she preferred. The crowd there was likewise middle-ground. All looking to have a good time but not too rowdy-drunk. And she did like the place, but thought it odd at first, since both she and Chris loved their little team-family of friends, that he would opt to not be with them to ring in the New Year. But as they sat and had a couple drinks, chatting at a high-table in the bar, she realized they wouldn't have had this time to themselves if they'd stayed at Pride's. Maybe he would've been more hesitant to bring her out onto the dance floor before the judgmental eyes of their friends and coworkers. Here, he could let loose. It was just the two of them, able to be the selves they were when they were only with each other. She hoped it was closer to Chris' true self, the person he was when he was alone and completely comfortable without any social pressures whatsoever.

At least, it felt like he was being free with his own thoughts and feelings.

He would've never held her close like he was now, not in front of the others. In a crowded, somewhat noisy room of strangers, however, it felt like they were alone. It was really nice.

Until they both jumped, breaking apart a little as the crowd began the countdown to midnight. They were still standing close, however, his hands sliding to her hips instead. He wasn't counting, just staring into her with those intense eyes that were exceptionally blue that night. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, but the countdown had started at ten, so she didn't have much time for her heart to race as she read his intent to-

He was kissing her. His lips were warm. And softer than she'd expected, too. Not that she'd ever- _oh, yes_. He pulled her hips closer, flush to his own as he slid his mouth against hers and she eagerly responded in kind, burying her fingers into the collar of his shirt as she kissed him back, the room exploding in sound and light and color around them.

...

The world exploded with sound and light. And Chris LaSalle wasn't sure that it was because of the festivities filling the crowded restaurant bar. No. It was definitely because of the woman in his arms, gorgeous and electric. The way her whole body seemed to respond to his mouth on hers, her breasts pressing into him, her fingers digging into his shirt and the skin at the nape of his neck as she pulled on him, clung to him as if he she were drowning and he was a life preserver, unabashedly full of desperate need as she kissed him back.

Her lips parted, an invitation he did not even remotely have it in him to resist. His hands moved instinctively to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, tasting the remnants of sweet champagne in her mouth. She whimper-moaned as his tongue caressed hers, and the vulnerable need in the sound made his knees grow weak and he clung more firmly to her.

He never wanted to let her go.

He never wanted to stop kissing her.

But some part of him had come back to his senses, and informed him that people had begun to stare. Chris reluctantly pulled away, with a few parting kisses to her sweet, now pinkly swollen and damp lips. He had only meant to give her a quick, chaste peck when the clock struck 12, as was tradition. It just... It just hadn't ended there.

Hell, it hadn't even begun there. How could he not kiss her more firmly, linger longer pressing the sensitive skin of his lips to her warm soft ones? How could he resist tasting her just a little, and then diving fully in when she responded with equal eagerness?

She blinked at him, and he wasn't going to lie about the ego-boost her slightly pouting look gave him. Merri hadn't wanted the kissing to end, either. That much was apparent even as she began to put her unflappable face back on, the one he'd gotten her to entirely discard several times over the past week. Her face was noticeably flushed however, turning even a deeper shade of pink as her big brown eyes glanced around them, noticing the number of people that had paused in their own revelry to watch the show, giggling, making lewd comments and catcalls at the couple who'd done more than exchange a brief new year's kiss.

He supposed it had been somewhat of a show. But it wa'n't like he grabbed her ass or nothin'. Just a little heated kissin'... with tongue. But still- He gave her a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling a little guilty for letting things get out of hand.

"Why you bein' shy now, bro?" A man standing just off to his right asked with a toss of his head indicating the gorgeous woman Chris had entirely pulled himself away to create what he hoped was a respectful distance. If he were honest with himself, backing off wasn't what he wanted, not really. But he couldn't start this sort of thing with Merri Brody. "Judgin' by the way she kissed you back, she already be your woman."

His uninvited coach's group of friends backed him up with loud noises of encouragement, loud enough to be heard over the din in the restaurant. The band was now playing _Auld Lang Syne_ and the crowd sounded extremely exuberant about the year 2016.

And then he found himself stumbling forward, having been shoved by a firm hand in his back. Merri caught him, her slender arms wrapping about his middle -and god, it felt so _right_.

That's why it was so dangerous. The way he'd begun to feel about his friend... It felt so natural. So real and right. But that was when he was with her. When they were apart, he couldn't help but think that this was the last thing either of them needed to become entangled in. But... What was it King had said to them before?

 _The heart wants what the heart wants._

And she felt so perfect pressed against him once more, looking at him with her gorgeous dark eyes like she knew every inch of his soul and would never flinch at any of it, that she might even treasure every part of him, the bad as well as the good.

It was a new year. A moment of rebirth and renewal. To put away the troubles and the hardships of the past and look to the future. But Chris knew he hadn't needed the calendar to turn over for that. She'd already been helping him to move on from the guilt, loneliness and pain.

"Happy New Year, Merri Brody," he said, smiling at her. Her hold on him tightened in a hug that filled his entire world with nothing but her; her warmth, the solid weight of her shapely body, the beating of her heart against his chest, and the sweet apple scent of her. Her breath was hot on his neck, tickling his skin a little before she leaned in so closely to whisper to him that her lips brushed the shell of his ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

"Happy New Year, Chris LaSalle."

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that was a little more than just a friendly New Year's Kiss… What are they going to do about it? ;-)**


	8. On the Eighth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: (Happy New Year! )What are Chris and Merri in for? Some Post-Kiss Awkwardness? Some deeper UST?**

* * *

 _ **Eight Maids-a-milking**_

How was he here again? It was what, exactly one week ago that had found him nervously standing on Merri Brody's stoop?

Okay. So he well knew why he was there. And suffering from a bout of nerves the likes of which he hadn't experienced since her was 20 years old.

Now, whether he wanted to admit it, was an entirely different story.

They had rightly separated at the end of the night. Something they hadn't really been doing. Nights were the worst for loneliness, he well knew. So yeah, when they had dinner together, he ended up staying the night at her place, on the couch of course. But after that kiss... They had both known better than to flirt with being in the same house, still buzzed from alcohol and bodies flooded with hormones.

No. It had been the correct decision.

Only now some time had passed. And he couldn't help but wonder if Merri Brody had grown to regret their behavior the previous night? Would it make things awkward between them? God, he hoped not. The deepening friendship between them had become the most important relationship in his life.

Had he completely messed it up by initiating that very much more-than-friendly kiss?

Merri answered the door, giving Chris a severe bout of deja vu. She was dressed in what he now knew was her 'comfy' clothes, yoga pants, tank top and hoodie. Her hair was a little rumpled and she had dark smudges beneath her eyes. Hell, so did he, since he hadn't gotten in until 2am and then had an extremely fitful sleep. How had he ever partied all night? His thirties were finally catching up with him, he supposed. Or life was.

At least she hadn't appeared to have been crying this time.

Giving him a wan smile, she let him in.

"About-"

"I'm sorry-"

They both spoke at the same time, abruptly stopped and laughed nervously.

"Ladies first," Chris said, when they just stared awkwardly at one another. Man, he'd messed it all up, hadn't he? Only... Only he found himself staring at her mouth, wanting to kiss her again, wanting to hold her close, feel her warmth and inhale her scent.

"Please don't feel bad about what happened last night," she said, catching his gaze with her inescapable intense one. It wasn't aggressive, just encompassing in a way that made you never want to leave it. "I value our friendship a lot. I don't want to lose it because we make a big deal out of nothing."

Nothing? She was calling _that kiss_ nothing? Chris felt a little hurt. Apparently, she saw this in his eyes.

"Okay," she said with a borderline flirtatious smile. "It wasn't _nothing_. But letting it become awkward. Please let's not do that."

"Mere, I..." he didn't know what to say. He knew how he felt, all of the dozens of contradicting feelings. But he didn't know how to put them into words. "I like ya."

"I like you, too, Chris." Her smile broadened further. "I like spending time with you. I like being your friend. And yes, I really liked kissing you."

"But..." He supplied for her when she failed to continue.

"But... nothing," she said, her cheeks flushing a little at the implication. He felt heat blossom in his own chest. And lower.

"You aren't gonna gi' me any ultimatums 'bout stayin' friends?" he asked. "'Bout how mebbe we shouldn' be spendin' so much time ta-gether?"

She shrugged. "Are you giving me any?"

"Nope." Now he did grin, feeling extremely relieved. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Merri. And she didn't seem to know what she wanted from him, either. The only clear thing was that they were still friends. Just friends who also enjoyed kissing each other that one time. Whether or not it would happen again... Well, he had no idea. He also didn't know whether he truly wanted it to, despite what his body was telling him.

Merri invited him in and offered him a cup of coffee, which he sorely needed after the previous night of excitement and the complete lack of sleep (due to other sorts of excitement). They sat on the couch together, an environment he was becoming quite comfortable in. The silence that fell between them was thankfully not in the least bit awkward. It was actually quite pleasant.

And that was a sign of true friendship, Chris knew. Not feeling compelled to fill a silence with some inane chitchat. Just being together as they sipped their coffee and -yes, they were- stealing glances at one another. He couldn't get it off his mind, the way she felt pressed up against him. The way she tasted. The way her body freely responded to being held, touched, kissed. It was the most open and untempered he'd ever seen Merri Brody, who always seemed to have at least one barrier up, some part of herself on guard.

He'd liked it. A lot.

Setting his mug of half-finished java down, he reached for the gift bag he'd brought with him, and set it on the cushion between them.

"Time fer yer present," he said, giving her his classic big ol' grin.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to do this," Merri said.

"An' how many times I gotta tell ya that yer my friend an' I _like_ doin' it," he said. And he did. It was actually quite a bit of fun thinking up all of the surprises and executing them. Granted, his family had poured out a number of ideas when they'd first conceived the idea. Who the hell had suggested it in the first place? It was his mama who'd insisted that he go see Merri on Christmas so that the 'poor thing wouldn' be alone on the day Baby Jesus was born, that'd be downright uncharitable an' a sin.' She told him to take one of the bottles of Aunt Bernice's Pear Wine... And was it his sister who (having already had several glasses of the stuff) made a joke she found more hilarious than the rest about how fitting the pear wine on the first day of Christmas was. And then it had been a tidal wave of scheming and pressuring him. Not that he'd needed to be coerced into cheering Merri Brody up. It had been eating away at him, seeing her do so down.

"Chris, goat soap? This couldn't have been cheap," she said, as she pulled the eight cloth-wrapped bars out of the bag.

"Nah." He shrugged it off. "My sister works for the comp'ny. She gets a tonna it free."

This seemed to relieve Merri's concern about the trouble he'd gone through somewhat. It really hadn't been much trouble at all. He had a case of the stuff sitting in his own closet.

Her laughter drew his attention, and she held up the soap so that he could see the little round label. That had been the best part of it. Why it'd been so perfect.

"Is your sister a 'maid-a-milking' then?" she asked, still laughing over the company name.

"Not exac'ly," he said, chuckling a little, too, as he pictured his sister trying to milk a goat. Despite his family's admittedly hillbilly thick accent, his sister was not really a 'country girl'. "She's their marketing department."

Merri was holding the bars up to her nose, testing the scents of them. He'd pulled the variety sampler out of the pile of 'Maids-A-Milking' products for her gift, not knowing whether she'd like the scent his sister seemed to think was his favorite and had given him that whole damned case of, so much soap that he teased her that she was trying to say something about his hygiene.

And then Merri was laughing again. This time, he had no clue why. And when she looked at him with amusement, he gave her a confused one in return.

"This is what you use, isn't it?" she said, holding out the bar with the all-too-familiar orange ribbon tied around the muslin wrapping. And she was right. There was about twenty bars of it stacked in his bathroom closet. Damn his sister. Although, free soap. Why would he protest?

"Yeah..." he said, hesitation in his voice. "So?"

"I couldn't figure out why you smell like ginger," she said. "It's not generally a scent guys pick out."

Chris felt his face heat up. The tips of his ears were probably turning pink. He wasn't ashamed of smelling like a cookie or pie or whatever else a ginger aroma brought to mind. But he was feeling a little flush of awkward pleasure at the idea that Merri had not only noticed the way he smelled but had fixated on it enough that she'd been trying to figure out its source.

"Free soap," he said as way of explanation, making her laugh again, before she set the bar aside and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, making his internal temperature seem to rise another few degrees at the contact. Because he may smell like ginger. But she smelled like fresh apples-with-a-hint-of-vanilla.

Good enough to eat.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, they haven't really addressed where they stand have they? Besides not wanting to give up what they have… Whether it's friendship… Or maybe more?**


	9. On the Ninth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Things are starting to heat up between the 'close friends'…**

 **Warning: Allusions to Mature Subject Matter. (Not explicit… I don't think)**

* * *

 _ **Nine Dames-a-dancing**_

Merri giggled as they stumbled into Chris' home in the French Quarter. It was closer to where he'd taken her out dancing, after all. Which was a good thing for a woman feeling a little tipsy wearing high-heels. She'd asked him if it would bother him, make dancing awkward if she wore her stiletto slingbacks that made her over an inch taller than her companion. He'd said 'what red-blooded man would object ta a woman in sexy shoes?'

And it hadn't appeared to interfere with his ability to whirl her about the dance floor. For such a blue-collar, backwoods sort of guy (she would argue he perpetuated that facade for his own purposes), he had some very good moves. He even knew some official ballroom dances, like the salsa. It had been unexpected. And yet not, she supposed. Because he was a charmer when it came to the ladies.

Who could resist the invitation to go out dancing with him again, after the taste she'd gotten on New Year's Eve? Who could resist him at all?

She certainly was finding it difficult, even though she wasn't drunk -well, _that_ drunk.

Chris' solid form left her, and she hadn't realized how much she'd been using him to keep her upright. She reached out for the stand next to the door to support herself as the lights blinked on in time for her to realize she'd missed and was toppling over to be caught by her friend who seemed a little less worse for alcohol than she apparently was. She laughed, feeling light headed as he brought her back up to her feet quickly enough that she got a head rush.

"That's it," he said, laughing, doubtless at her silly state. "We's puttin' ya ta bed."

"Hm..." She leaned into him as he began to walk her towards the set of glass French doors to his bedroom. "I like that offer. You're joining me, right?"

He sat her on the foot of his bed.

"I don' think that's a good idea, Mere," he said, his expression belying his words.

"Liar," she said, flopping back onto the soft mattress. It was a typical bachelor's bed. Unmade, the sheets exposed and twisted up, and smelling of his ginger-and-sweat scent, which had become downright intoxicating to her. She wiggled her toes as he undid the tiny strap buckles and took off her shoes. "You want to undress me. Get me _nekked_ in your bed. Get inside of me."

She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him, caught him wetting his lips in that nervous way of his. Did he know it turned her on?

Oh, god. She was a little drunk. But not drunk enough that she'd regret it in the morning. Didn't he realize that?

She pushed herself all the way up, grabbed his shirtfront and fell back to the mattress, tugging him forcefully down on top of her as she found his mouth and claimed it as her own property. God, how she wanted to claim every inch of his body with her mouth.

He didn't resist, meeting her kiss and the movement of her hips as she rubbed herself against him, wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck and reveled in him. She wanted him naked, skin against skin, filling her with his flesh and his warmth, and his affection. But oh, oh god, this would do. This would do.

He jerked, pulling away from her, and she instinctually tightened her grip on him, keeping his body flush to hers.

"We can't do this," he said, his voice sounding tight. "Ya gotta le' go a me."

"Please," she said, hearing the tightness in her own voice, the frustrated arousal thrumming through her body. "Please just touch me, Chris. If you don't want to have sex, just touch me."

She ground herself against him, hard, making him groan, the strength apparently leaving his arms as he collapsed on top of her, the weight of him crushing her into the mattress and sending another wave of heat through her.

"I can't take advantage of ya, Mere." He sounded not very convinced. "Yer drunk. Ya don' know what yer askin' fer."

She relented somewhat, loosening her hold on him so that he could push himself off from her, but he still hovered over her, staring down into her face with those gorgeous eyes, a deep, dark blue like the Arctic sea.

"Are my words slurred?" she asked, staring back into him, fighting to dampen the thrumming in her body. And failing. "Are my eyes unfocused?"

He licked his lips as he considered her points.

"I _am_ a little buzzed," she said. "But I'm not so drunk I don't know what I'm saying." She arched her back, rubbing her body against his once more. "I want you, Chris. And if you're not willing to have sex but maybe want to touch me, _please_ do it."

She felt his fingertips brush her naked thigh, and her body couldn't decide whether it wanted to sigh in relief or moan in desperate desire. His weight shifted off from her, and she let her legs fall from his waist, his hand traveling up her dress and into her panties and-

She threw herself wholly into the invitation to dance. Well, she supposed she'd been the one to coax him into this particular number, but it was one he poured himself into fully. He guided her body with the expertise she'd seen hints of in the way he set his skilled hands to so many tasks. He took her on an intoxicating trip that made her head spin. The world faded away into a swirling rush of sensation, making her first completely aware of her entire body and then taking her entirely out of it, so that her only connection to reality was him. And when the dance ended in a spectacular crescendo, he didn't let go. Rather he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

Completely blissed-out, she fell asleep wrapped up in him.

* * *

 **A/N: Short but** _ **satisfying?**_ **Well, at least for Merri ;-)**


	10. On the Tenth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Getting towards the end… Will Chris and Merri figure out what they want by the end of Twelvetide?**

* * *

 _ **Ten Lords-a-Leaping**_

Merri made a happy-sleepy noise as she wriggled down into the couch further, throwing her legs up across his lap. Her hair was messy and she was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and his Crimson Tide t-shirt. She was downright adorable all casual and cuddly, even if this whole scene hadn't turned out as he'd planned. And he didn't just mean for the day.

But he wasn't exactly lamenting that fact, now was he?

Still, maybe it hadn't been the right thing to do. He had only meant to cheer up his friend, and here they were skirting something that was much more than a close friendship. He hadn't had the courage to just straight-up confront the issue with the woman. But who could blame him for finding it difficult, when she was so goddang beautiful and _affectionate_. As he fell asleep holding her in his arms after making her gasp and sigh his name in pleasure, willing down his own unsated lust, he thought he might just be able to broach the topic in the morning when all parties were more level-headed.

Unfortunately for his vow to be responsible, Merri hadn't been in a somber mood that morning. Instead, he'd woken to her kissing his chest. She'd managed to unbutton his shirt without waking him somehow. And also the fly on his slacks, her fingers burrowed inside and- God forgive him, he hadn't stopped her.

"I'm sorry, Merri," he said, causing her sit up a little, blinking away a little bleariness to pin him with her big, brown eyes. He chickened out. And apologized for his failure to give her the gift he'd wanted to for that day. "I had wanted ta get some tickets ta a game, but there wa'n't any local ones taday."

She shrugged.

"I know yer not much inta basketball..."

"Ten Lords-a-Leaping," she said, chuckling lightly. "It definitely works."

She settled back in as the basketball game played on the TV.

"I thought ya might enjoy the crowd, though," he said, earning another confused, brown-eyed expression from his friend-lover-would-be-girlfriend? God, he'd made a mess of things. And yet... he couldn't see his way to regretting it. Merri was not only extremely sensual, smart and funny, but quirky and fascinating as all get-out. "I know how ya love ta people-watch."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her eyes betraying her absent tone.

"I seen how yer always watchin' people, tryin' ta figure out what their story is."

"That's our job," she said. Were her cheeks turning a little pink with embarrassment? Like it wasn't something an inured 'tough agent' would do, watching other, everyday people enjoying their lives.

"Nah," he said. "It's more'n that. I think ya like ta tell yerself happy stories 'bout them. Remember people ain't all bad."

She looked away until he took her hand and squeezed it.

"I get it, Mere." And he did. They had a lot in common, a lot more than he'd ever thought when he'd first met the reserved, refined transplant from the Great Lakes. For one, she wasn't nearly so stoic as she'd originally tried to be. She always liked people more than she let on. She was just afraid of being hurt, of having her heart trampled on yet again. "After Savannah... It was diff'cult ta see the good 'n the world anymore."

She didn't say anything, only nodded as she stared at him with her big, brown eyes looking a little damp.

"You were just trying to forget the pain with all those women," she said. "Just have a fun time without any of the baggage that comes along with relationships."

Chris had never cared to explain himself to anyone, not even to King. But he presently found himself immensely relieved to discover that Merri truly understood.

"Is that what _this_ all is fer ya?" he asked, finally approaching his misgivings in a roundabout way. "Somethin' fun ta remind ya that life is good?"

"What?" She seemed generally alarmed by this proposal, pulling away, her expression shutting down in defense, as if it had been an accusation and not an observation.

"Don't get me wrong, Merri," he said. "I'm likin' this whole thing we got goin', even wi' the confusin' turn of events o'er the past coupla days."

He'd never seen such an uncertain expression on her pretty face before. It was both reassuring and disconcerting. Apparently she was as confused about what they were doing as he was.

"Yer sister's death might not be jus' a tragic accident." He pressed onward while he still had the guts to do so. And since she was barefoot, dressed in some of his clothes and currently had her legs draped over his lap, tangled up with him on the sofa, she couldn't make a quick getaway to avoid this issue. "An' havin' no answers is troublin' nough. But it also makes the world seem ta be a darker, crueler place, don't it?"

"I just... I just miss her so badly sometimes," she said, making his heart ache in sympathy.

"It ain't only the mem'ries." He began to massage her leg, just above the knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "It's wishin' she was here. Wonderin' what it woulda been like ta talk wi' her jus' one more time, ta hug her, ta celebrate Christmas wi' her."

Her hand, soft and warm settled over his, and he stopped caressing her leg, turned his hand palm up to entangle his fingers with hers.

"Savannah was a good woman," she said, her voice quiet but even. Her big eyes were a soft, brown, melting like milk chocolate as she stared at him with what wasn't sympathy, but more empathy. "I'm sorry for everything you'll never have with her."

"An' I'm sorry fer everythin' you'll never get ta do wi' Emily." Just as she knew what it was like for someone to break your heart, even though James himself had been responsible, not some murdering bastard, Chris knew what it was like to think you might never see a sibling again. Never be the shoulder they needed to cry on, never tease them about their crazy new hobby, or their latest love interest. Never stand up beside 'em on their wedding day. Never hold a brand new niece or nephew. He'd gotten his sibling back. Merri hadn't. And the pain of the loss of a loved one being due to someone else's malice was all too familiar to him as well.

He looked into her eyes, saw the same revelation in hers. They understood one another. And not just on a cerebral level, but knew intimately the shape and form of the other's pain.

And now, the other's joy.

"But I'm happy for everything we can have, Chris," she said, and he felt a warm spot sprout in his chest. "Even if it's just for Christmas."

"What if...um..." He cleared his throat, ducking his head. He knew he shouldn't feel so shy with her. He'd already shared so much of his feelings, more than he'd ever intended. And he knew how she mewled like a kitten when she was tightly wound with sexual desire . "What if it's more than jus' these last few days?"

He dared glance at her, saw her smiling, her dark brown eyes warm and inviting.

"I'd like that," she said, pulling her legs off his lap so she could shift position, kneeling beside him on the couch, leaning in and studying him intently. He now knew the almost-predatory look all too well. She wanted to kiss him. Or for him to kiss her. And damn, he really wanted to do precisely that.

And so he did. It was as invigorating as the first on New Year's Eve, and the ones the previous night and that morning. There was a complexity to Merri Brody that made him think each kiss, each touch, each conversation, each sexual encounter would always feel novel, exciting and unexpected in some way.

The basketball game continued to play out on the TV, but faded entirely to the background as he made out with the woman who was older than his own 33 years as if they were smitten teenagers.

And he supposed he was rather smitten with her. She was good people. She proved that the world wasn't a terrible place. And she made him happy. He could only hope that he made her happy, too.

By the sounds she was making as he kissed her neck and delved his hands beneath his t-shirt she was wearing, running his fingertips across her smooth, flat stomach... He made her quite happy.

* * *

 **A/N: Our lovebirds are finally admitting there's something between them…**


	11. On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Just two days left for our 'friends' to figure out what they are becoming… Close friends? Friends with benefits? Romantic partners?**

* * *

 _ **Eleven Pipers-piping**_

Chris LaSalle was wearing that look of most intense concentration, which she'd only witnessed on a handful of occasions when the man was perusing an especially dense forensics report or the like. His brown brows nearly touched in the furrow above his nose, his forehead wrinkling. Generally, his jaw would be firmly set, his lips pressed into a thin line (if he wasn't chewing them or running his tongue over his teeth as he thought). This time, however, his cheeks were puffed up almost comically, lips pursed and parted as he controlled the air flow from his lungs.

"What is that?" Merri laughed. She couldn't help herself. She did recognize the tune, however, as he moved the little set of hollow bamboo rods back and forth picking out the notes. "Three Blind Mice?"

He stopped, panting for a few breaths and said, with a slightly lascivious twinkle in his eye, "Hot Cross Buns."

"I don't think that means what you think it means," she said, returning his smile, and stepping aside to let him in. She caught a whiff of his scent as he slipped by her, and remembered that he'd been evaluating Percy's firearms skills at the NOPD's range. He smelled strongly of gunpowder with just a slight undertone of ginger that she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been aware of it. But- _Mmm_... She'd missed him. Again, work had kept them separated for most of the day. This time, she'd been running down leads with Pride while Chris was stuck with their newbie.

"These 're actually fer ya," he said, handing her the musical instrument.

"Panpipes?" She laughed again. She couldn't remember laughing so frequently and freely as she had this past week and a half. Chris LaSalle made her happy in a way no one else ever really had before. Except for Emily. She was the only other person who she'd felt so comfortable and easy with, like she didn't have to censor a thing she said, like they she -and Chris, too- understood her.

"Couldn' 'fford eleven flautists or bagpipers," he said, his blue eyes studying her face a little more intently than usual, in the way she noticed he tended to do directly before kissing her.

"So you taught yourself?" He stepped into her personal space, his hands settling on her waist. He had that damned adorable, flirtatious, smug grin on his face.

"I got hidden talents." He leaned in and kissed her cheek right on the corner of her mouth. And she sort of had to agree about the _talents_ part, as she felt an electric charge course through her. Damn. But she was discovering more and more of them as they spent time together. And she couldn't resist teasing.

"Talents? You sure that's what you want to call it?" She set the panpipes on the little side table by the door so she could snake her arms around his neck. She teased the tip of his nose with her own in an Eskimo Kiss. His lips twitched. And she wasn't sure if it was because the gesture had made his face itch, or if he was suppressing a chuckle, or if he wanted to kiss her on the lips. Okay, definitely the last one.

 _Yum!_ Absence indeed made the heart grow fonder. Okay, it'd only been a single day. Not even, since this time yesterday, they'd been cuddled up on the couch at Chris' place. But still, the deprivation seemed to intensify the mesmerizing allure of his kiss. He pulled back, giving her a Cheshire grin before his expression turned serious.

"Dang, how I missed ya taday," he said. She licked the taste of him off her lips. He'd had something spicy for dinner, with a distinct Cajun flavor. And she would've been disappointed, thinking he wouldn't want to order some delivery from their favorite cafe and have dinner with her, except she was well aware of his high metabolism and constant snacking.

Then again, she herself was feeling a little hungry for something other than food. The question was whether they were 'there' yet? A blind person could tell how badly Chris wanted to roll around between the sheets with her. But whether it was just his body... Or maybe something more... That was the question that plagued her, gave her hesitancy, doubt how forward she'd been behaving.

Over the weekend, he hadn't fended off her advances, but she hadn't pushed for much. She'd woken him up with a little manual encouragement. But they'd done nothing more than cuddle and kiss (with just some gentle groping) over the course of the day. Again, she had to fall back on the excuse of 'Who could resist?'

He was such an attractive man. Physically, yes. But his personality, both open and charming on the surface but also possessing intriguing depths that Merri just wanted to explore and solve the puzzle of his heart. And then there were his captivating deep blue eyes. And the fact that he smelled not only of the musky, sweaty male odor, but that teasing tantalizing accent of ginger. She wanted to eat him up. For so many reasons.

"I missed you, too, Chris," she said, and then feeling emboldened by those (most definitely) captivating deep blue eyes, added, "What do you propose we do about it?"

"Get good 'n' acquainted."

She would ask if he was sure, but the steady, calm look in his eyes gave her all the answer she needed, right before he was kissing her again, in a greedy way that spurred her own deep-seated desire for him. Then they were stumbling towards her bedroom with eager hands stripping away garments and tossing them aside.

* * *

Merri Brody was everything he'd imagined she would be. And more. It was a cliché, he supposed. But that didn't make it untrue. Her body was a work of goddang art. And the way she used it... But it was looking into her big, brown eyes while making love that had stolen his heart.

Not that he'd hadn't already been falling head over heels for the woman. Because damn, he couldn't deny it now. He loved her to pieces.

There were really only two directions to go at this point. Either pursue it, see where it went. Or try to call it a day and forget about it.

The latter seemed unnecessarily painful at this juncture. But no one could ever tell what the future held, and maybe ending things early rather than breaking up terribly later was a wiser idea.

Only mebbe Chris LaSalle just wa'n't that bright, after all. But as far he saw it. It was too late. Now or later. He'd already lost his heart. He knew he was the type to fall hard and fast. And he'd guarded against it since Savannah. Only with Merri, it'd been impossible. She'd gotten through his defensive walls. And he didn't begrudge her it a bit.

"Mmm..." She stretched and purred, rolled over onto her side to face him, throwing a leg over his hip. "I think that satisfied me for the day."

"But what happens if I'm missing you tomorrow or the next day?"

He traced the elegant pronounced curve of her side, down the valley of her waist and the rise of her hip, settling his hand there.

"Merri Brody, ya gonna have a hard time gettin' rid a me, now." He watched her closely, his heart swelling when she smiled so broadly that it lit up her entire face. She was a goddang angel when she smiled like that.

"Good."

She wiggled in closer so that her bare breasts were pressing against his naked chest. He could feel the steady beating of her heart through the warm, supple flesh. Her arms snaked around him, hands caressing his back in a simultaneously soothing and rousing manner. And then her soft lips were pressing against his and they were kissing again, slow and tender and _loving_.

* * *

 **A/N: Chris is feeling it? Is Merri, too? Are they comfortable enough to say it aloud? One day left!**


	12. On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: Well, this has been a fun little romp/writing exercise. Thank you for coming on the journey with me. Hopefully this final installment satisfies!**

* * *

 _ **Twelve Drummers Drumming**_

They'd joked about calling into work sick that morning when they woke in a state of perfect bliss. The mattress was just right, like laying on a cloud. And the sheets were so soft. And her lover's body just _-mm, yes_ \- pleasantly warm, the sweaty heat from the previous night's exertions having dissipated. And then there was the affectionate mood Chris had awaken in.

It'd been extremely difficult to drag themselves out of bed and get ready for a day of chasing down criminals.

But they'd both sobered very quickly over the topic of what Pride's reaction would be if they both called in sick within a few minutes of the other. Because what would Pride's reaction to this be at all? Not that _this_ had been clearly defined yet. But she was pretty certain it wasn't over. Rather, it felt like it'd just begun. And she was falling hard and fast.

She'd learned to guard her heart, because with the right kind of guy, she was extremely susceptible to falling in love. James had been a mistake. She'd known that even before he'd run off on her. She knew it when he came back begging for further affection. But Chris, he felt _right_. Like maybe it wasn't a completely foolish thing to do to let herself fall in love again. And he seemed extremely interested in continuing whatever _this_ was, too.

Even though… When she asked him what he thought Pride was going to think if he ever found out about them, Chris' normally playful expression became disconcertingly serious. That deep furrow forming between his brows and a little frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 _Ya mean_ when _he finds out_ , he'd said. And then he'd shrugged it off, giving her his stupid-charming grin and kissing her soundly.

Maybe she shouldn't have brought it up again, but it had bothered her all day. Mainly because their boss had made sure they were working on separate aspects of the case once more.

"Pride already knows," she said, as she walked arm-in-arm with Chris down the lively street. It was dusk and the city was coming alive.

"Knows what?"

 _Not going to fly, Chris_. After over a year of working together, and a week and a half of, well, basically super-concentrated-dating, she would never buy into his 'dumb' act again.

"He doesn't approve, does he?" she asked, only realizing she'd tightened her grip on his forearm when he jumped a little as her nails dug into his skin through his light jacket. "That's why he's been keeping us separated at work."

"Nah," Chris said, shaking his head. "He's jus' makin' sure our newbie gets the benefit a' all her trainin' agents' expertise."

She tugged on his arm, making him stop and turn to face her. Foot traffic hiccupped for a minute but then seamlessly flowed around the obviously at-odds couple.

"Do you really think that, Chris?" she asked, trying to get a read on him. His flirty smile hadn't completely fled his face, but his eyes held some serious concern as he considered her in return.

"I uh... I talked wi' 'im taday, Mere," he said, looking a little nervous. And rightly so.

"About _us_?" She took a moment to calm herself. It agitated her a great deal to learn that people had been discussing her behind her back. But she had to take into account that their boss also happened to be Chris' best friend, a sort of father-figure. Of course, he'd turned to Pride when he was in emotional upheaval. Even if it was the good kind. Merri hoped he considered it the good kind, anyway.

She certainly did.

"Yeah, I... uh... I did," Chris seemed to gain some confidence, too, straightening to his full height and looking her straight in the eye. She could admit he knew a lot of her secrets now. But did she know how vulnerable she was to his pretty blue eyes? "He seen that we was diff'rent wi' one another an' he was testin' his theory by assignin' us sep'rate tasks."

"And what was his conclusion?" Merri asked, generally curious what she'd let show despite how careful she thought she'd been. But Pride had a decade or so more experience on the job than she did.

The tips of Chris' ears turned pink. "That t'was too late ta warn us off'n a relationship wi' a fellow agent."

Merri looked away, feeling a blush creep up her own cheeks. It was one thing to let Chris see precisely how much she cared about him while they were cuddled up on his couch or rolling around in her bed. It was an entirely other thing that she'd let their boss see the extent to which she was a lost cause.

"So he knows that we... um..." She trailed off timidly until Chris's hand gently chucked her chin made her raise her face to his again. _Come on, Merri. You're a grown-ass woman! Just say it._ "That we're... seeing each other?"

 _You wuss, Merri Brody!_

Those blue eyes lit up and his mouth twitched with amusement.

"Yup."

She narrowed her own eyes at him. Really? That was all she was going to get? He was going to be all tight-lipped about what he and Pride had said when discussing his _involvement_ with her?

Chris chuckled. Actually chuckled.

"Don't look so dang 'fraid," he said. "Ya know Pride likes ya."

Yes. But she somehow doubted the man would think that her, with her history of running away from her problems, was good enough for his beloved surrogate son.

"An' he said it makes 'im happy ta see us happy." He rubbed her arm gently. "So quit worryin' 'bout it, Mere. He ain't gonna interfere wi'... _us_."

Well, at least they'd gotten to the point where they'd acknowledged they were an 'us'.

"C'mon," he took her hand and began leading her down the street once more. "We's gonna miss it."

"What is _it_ , exactly?" she asked, forgetting about her worries as she was caught up in her...um... _lover's_ excitement.

"Yer surprise," he said still dragging her along through the crowd.

* * *

"Whaddya think?" He felt like a cat watching a ping-pong tournament, unable to decide whether he wanted to watch Merri's face or the spectacle being put on by the street performers.

Merri was winning. She was glowing in that way she did when genuinely happy. And Chris was a little startled to realize he could spend the rest of his life thinking of ways to make her glow like that. Willingly. Ecstatically.

"It sure is something," she said, leaning in close and talking loudly to be heard over the noise. He'd lucked out. A group of Trinidadian immigrants had begun a little group to continue to practice their talent-hobby-passion for the steel drum. And it had grown since it'd formed last fall to about a dozen or so. They performed in a small park in the French Quarter every Tuesday and Thursday at seven pm. It had worked out perfectly.

"I can't imagine the skill and practice it takes."

"Ya sayin' ya like 'em better than my pipin'?" He put his arm around her and she laughed as she snuggled into his side. He could spend the rest of his life with her pressed up against him, too.

"Nothing can beat your rendition of 'Hot Cross Buns', Chris," she said, her voice taking on that extra melodic tonality it acquired when she was filled with laughter. "It will always be my favorite memory of being serenaded."

'So ya been serenaded, before, huh? Guess I better up my game." He gave her a wink and a kiss on the cheek. "Dinner at Billie's probably ain't gonna cut it."

"Oh, I love their jalapeno poppers!" She even bounced a little in her shoes, like a small child. He absolutely adored this side of Merri Brody, light-hearted, carefree and exuberant.

"You didn't have to do all of this," she said, after they stood for a few more minutes, cuddled close together watching the performance wind down. He gently pulled away so he could turn to face her, look into her big brown eyes. So gorgeous.

"Hey. When I commit ta somethin', I always follow-through, Merri Brody." He continued to stare into her, unwilling to take two steps back after taking one forward. They'd been playing this game for nearly a week, now. Maybe longer, if he was honest about feelings he'd always ignored since the day he'd met her. But he'd accepted them, now. Embraced them. And he wasn't ever letting go. "Have I scared ya off yet?"

Her eyes had gone big and round. Well, even bigger and rounder. And butterflies flitted around his stomach. Maybe he had frightened her off by coming on so strong so soon. But the way she'd been looking at him... The way she'd made love to him last night…

"You wish you could be so lucky," she said, relieving the anxious knot in his chest. She grabbed the loose lapels of his unzipped jacket and tugged him towards her. "I'm not going anywhere."

The heat of her body pressed up against him warmed his stomach and chest as much as the acutely affectionate look in her eyes and her words.

"I probably don't deserve you, Chris LaSalle. But I'm going to enjoy every minute until you figure that out."

He couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face. Played it up, let his accent thicken.

"If ya'll recall, I ain't none too bright, Miss Brody." He grabbed her waist, pulling her hips flush to his. "An' I ain't never gonna believe yer not dang well outta my league."

Her hands flattened against his chest and smoothed over his jacket to his shoulders and further until she'd wrapped her arms about his neck. Her dark eyes never wavered from staring straight into his soul.

"Guess we're just too stupid to call it quits before we're in too deep," she said, smile curving her lips.

"Darlin', we's in so deep I done already drowned."

He only had to lean in a little because she was already meeting him halfway for the kiss, one that ran the gamut of expression, sharing their tender affection and their lusty physical desires alike. They were both a little breathless when it broke.

"I love ya, Mere."

"I love you, too, Chris."

END

* * *

 **A/N: Well, I hope that satisfies. This little holiday fluff ficlet is finito!**


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